The Brothers Karamazov

Chapter 4

A Hymn and a Secret

IT was quite late (days are short in November) when Alyosha rang
at the prison gate. It was beginning to get dusk. But Alyosha knew
that he would be admitted without difficulty. Things were managed
in our little town, as everywhere else. At first, of course, on the
conclusion of the preliminary inquiry, relations and a few other
persons could only obtain interviews with Mitya by going through
certain inevitable formalities. But later, though the formalities
were not relaxed, exceptions were made for some, at least, of
Mitya’s visitors. So much so, that sometimes the interviews
with the prisoner in the room set aside for the purpose were
practically tete-a-tete.

These exceptions, however, were few in number; only Grushenka,
Alyosha and Rakitin were treated like this. But the captain of the
police, Mihail Mihailovitch, was very favourably disposed to
Grushenka. His abuse of her at Mokroe weighed on the old
man’s conscience, and when he learned the whole story, he
completely changed his view of her. And strange to say, though he
was firmly persuaded of his guilt, yet after Mitya was once in
prison, the old man came to take a more and more lenient view of
him. “He was a man of good heart, perhaps,” he thought,
“who had come to grief from drinking and dissipation.”
His first horror had been succeeded by pity. As for Alyosha, the
police captain was very fond of him and had known him for a long
time. Rakitin, who had of late taken to coming very often to see
the prisoner, was one of the most intimate acquaintances of the
“police captain’s young ladies,” as he called
them, and was always hanging about their house. He gave lessons in
the house of the prison superintendent, too, who, though scrupulous
in the performance of his duties, was a kindhearted old man.
Alyosha, again, had an intimate acquaintance of long standing with
the superintendent, who was fond of talking to him, generally on
sacred subjects. He respected Ivan Fyodorovitch, and stood in awe
of his opinion, though he was a great philosopher himself;
“self-taught,” of course. But Alyosha had an
irresistible attraction for him. During the last year the old man
had taken to studying the Apocryphal Gospels, and constantly talked
over his impressions with his young friend. He used to come and see
him in the monastery and discussed for hours together with him and
with the monks. So even if Alyosha were late at the prison, he had
only to go to the superintendent and everything was made easy.
Besides, everyone in the prison, down to the humblest warder, had
grown used to Alyosha. The sentry, of course, did not trouble him
so long as the authorities were satisfied.

When Mitya was summoned from his cell, he always went
downstairs, to the place set aside for interviews. As Alyosha
entered the room he came upon Rakitin, who was just taking leave of
Mitya. They were both talking loudly. Mitya was laughing heartily
as he saw him out, while Rakitin seemed grumbling. Rakitin did not
like meeting Alyosha, especially of late. He scarcely spoke to him,
and bowed to him stiffly. Seeing Alyosha enter now, he frowned and
looked away, as though he were entirely absorbed in buttoning his
big, warm, fur-trimmed overcoat. Then he began looking at once for
his umbrella.

“I must mind not to forget my belongings,” he
muttered, simply to say something.

“Mind you don’t forget other people’s
belongings,” said Mitya, as a joke, and laughed at once at
his own wit. Rakitin fired up instantly.

“You’d better give that advice to your own family,
who’ve always been a slave-driving lot, and not to
Rakitin,” he cried, suddenly trembling with anger.

“What’s the matter? I was joking,” cried
Mitya. “Damn it all! They are all like that.” He turned
to Alyosha, nodding towards Rakitin’s hurriedly retreating
figure. “He was sitting here, laughing and cheerful, and all
at once he boils up like that. He didn’t even nod to you.
Have you broken with him completely? Why are you so late?
I’ve not been simply waiting, but thirsting for you the whole
morning. But never mind. We’ll make up for it now.”

“Why does he come here so often? Surely you are not such
great friends?” asked Alyosha. He, too, nodded at the door
through which Rakitin had disappeared.

“Great friends with Rakitin? No, not as much as that. Is
it likely — a pig like that? He considers I am... a
blackguard. They can’t understand a joke either, that’s
the worst of such people. They never understand a joke, and their
souls are dry, dry and flat; they remind me of prison walls when I
was first brought here. But he is a clever fellow, very clever.
Well, Alexey, it’s all over with me now.”

He sat down on the bench and made Alyosha sit down beside
him.

“Yes, the trial’s to-morrow. Are you so hopeless,
brother?” Alyosha said, with an apprehensive feeling.

“What are you talking about?” said Mitya, looking at
him rather uncertainly. “Oh, you mean the trial! Damn it all!
Till now we’ve been talking of things that don’t
matter, about this trial, but I haven’t said a word to you
about the chief thing. Yes, the trial is to-morrow; but it
wasn’t the trial I meant, when I said it was all over with
me. Why do you look at me so critically?”

“What do you mean, Mitya?”

“Ideas, ideas, that’s all! Ethics! What is
ethics?”

“Ethics?” asked Alyosha, wondering.

“Yes; is it a science?”

“Yes, there is such a science... but... I confess I
can’t explain to you what sort of science it is.”

“Rakitin knows. Rakitin knows a lot, damn him! He’s
not going to be a monk. He means to go to Petersburg. There
he’ll go in for criticism of an elevating tendency. Who
knows, he may be of use and make his own career, too. Ough! they
are first-rate, these people, at making a career! Damn ethics, I am
done for, Alexey, I am, you man of God! I love you more than
anyone. It makes my heart yearn to look at you. Who was Karl
Bernard?”

“Karl Bernard?” Alyosha was surprised again.

“No, not Karl. Stay, I made a mistake. Claude Bernard.
What was he? Chemist or what?”

“He must be a savant,” answered Alyosha; “but
I confess I can’t tell you much about him, either. I’ve
heard of him as a savant, but what sort I don’t
know.”

“Well, damn him, then! I don’t know either,”
swore Mitya. “A scoundrel of some sort, most likely. They are
all scoundrels. And Rakitin will make his way. Rakitin will get on
anywhere; he is another Bernard. Ugh, these Bernards! They are all
over the place.”

“But what is the matter?” Alyosha asked
insistently.

“He wants to write an article about me, about my case, and
so begin his literary career. That’s what he comes for; he
said so himself. He wants to prove some theory. He wants to say
‘he couldn’t help murdering his father, he was
corrupted by his environment,’ and so on. He explained it all
to me. He is going to put in a tinge of Socialism, he says. But
there, damn the fellow, he can put in a tinge if he likes, I
don’t care. He can’t bear Ivan, he hates him.
He’s not fond of you, either. But I don’t turn him out,
for he is a clever fellow. Awfully conceited, though. I said to him
just now,’ The Karamazovs are not blackguards, but
philosophers; for all true Russians are philosophers, and though
you’ve studied, you are not a philosopher — you are a
low fellow.’ He laughed, so maliciously. And I said to him,
‘De ideabus non est disputandum.’18 Isn’t that rather good? I can set up
for being a classic, you see!” Mitya laughed suddenly.

“Why is it all over with you? You said so just now,”
Alyosha interposed.

“Why is it all over with me? H’m!... The fact of it
is... if you take it as a whole, I am sorry to lose God —
that’s why it is.”

“What do you mean by ‘sorry to lose
God’?”

“Imagine: inside, in the nerves, in the head — that
is, these nerves are there in the brain... (damn them!) there are
sort of little tails, the little tails of those nerves, and as soon
as they begin quivering... that is, you see, I look at something
with my eyes and then they begin quivering, those little tails...
and when they quiver, then an image appears... it doesn’t
appear at once, but an instant, a second, passes... and then
something like a moment appears; that is, not a moment —
devil take the moment! — but an image; that is, an object, or
an action, damn it! That’s why I see and then think, because
of those tails, not at all because I’ve got a soul, and that
I am some sort of image and likeness. All that is nonsense! Rakitin
explained it all to me yesterday, brother, and it simply bowled me
over. It’s magnificent, Alyosha, this science! A new
man’s arising— that I understand.... And yet I am sorry
to lose God!”

“Well, that’s a good thing, anyway,” said
Alyosha.

“That I am sorry to lose God? It’s chemistry,
brother, chemistry! There’s no help for it, your reverence,
you must make way for chemistry. And Rakitin does dislike God.
Ough! doesn’t he dislike Him! That’s the sore point
with all of them. But they conceal it. They tell lies. They
pretend. ‘Will you preach this in your reviews?’ I
asked him. ‘Oh, well, if I did it openly, they won’t
let it through, ‘he said. He laughed. ‘But what will
become of men then?’ I asked him, ‘without God and
immortal life? All things are lawful then, they can do what they
like?’ ‘Didn’t you know?’ he said laughing,
‘a clever man can do what he likes,’ he said. ‘A
clever man knows his way about, but you’ve put your foot in
it, committing a murder, and now you are rotting in prison.’
He says that to my face! A regular pig! I used to kick such people
out, but now I listen to them. He talks a lot of sense, too. Writes
well. He began reading me an article last week. I copied out three
lines of it. Wait a minute. Here it is.”

Mitya hurriedly pulled out a piece of paper from his pocket and
read:

“‘In order to determine this question, it is above
all essential to put one’s personality in contradiction to
one’s reality.’ Do you understand that?”

“No, I don’t,” said Alyosha. He looked at
Mitya and listened to him with curiosity.

“I don’t understand either. It’s dark and
obscure, but intellectual. ‘Everyone writes like that
now,’ he says, ‘it’s the effect of their
environment.’ They are afraid of the environment. He writes
poetry, too, the rascal. He’s written in honour of Madame
Hohlakov’s foot. Ha ha ha!”

“I’ve heard about it,” said Alyosha.

“Have you? And have you heard the poem?”

“No.”

“I’ve got it. Here it is. I’ll read it to you.
You don’t know — I haven’t told you —
there’s quite a story about it. He’s a rascal! Three
weeks ago he began to tease me. ‘You’ve got yourself
into a mess, like a fool, for the sake of three thousand, but
I’m going to collar a hundred and fifty thousand. I am going
to marry a widow and buy a house in Petersburg.’ And he told
me he was courting Madame Hohlakov. She hadn’t much brains in
her youth, and now at forty she has lost what she had. ‘But
she’s awfully sentimental,’ he says;
‘that’s how I shall get hold of her. When I marry her,
I shall take her to Petersburg and there I shall start a
newspaper.’ And his mouth was simply watering, the beast, not
for the widow, but for the hundred and fifty thousand. And he made
me believe it. He came to see me every day. ‘She is coming
round,’ he declared. He was beaming with delight. And then,
all of a sudden, he was turned out of the house. Perhotin’s
carrying everything before him, bravo! I could kiss the silly old
noodle for turning him out of the house. And he had written this
doggerel. ‘It’s the first time I’ve soiled my
hands with writing poetry,’ he said. ‘It’s to win
her heart, so it’s in a good cause. When I get hold of the
silly woman’s fortune, I can be of great social
utility.’ They have this social justification for every nasty
thing they do! ‘Anyway it’s better than your
Pushkin’s poetry,’ he said, ‘for I’ve
managed to advocate enlightenment even in that.’ I understand
what he means about Pushkin, I quite see that, if he really was a
man of talent and only wrote about women’s feet. But
wasn’t Rakitin stuck up about his doggerel! The vanity of
these fellows! ‘On the convalescence of the swollen foot of
the object of my affections’ — he thought of that for a
title. He’s a waggish fellow.

A captivating little foot,
Though swollen and red and tender!
The doctors come and plasters put,
But still they cannot mend her.

Yet, ’tis not for her foot I dread
—
A theme for Pushkin’s muse more fit —
It’s not her foot, it is her head:
I tremble for her loss of wit!

For as her foot swells, strange to say,
Her intellect is on the wane —
Oh, for some remedy I pray
That may restore both foot and brain!

He is a pig, a regular pig, but he’s very arch, the
rascal! And he really has put in a progressive idea. And
wasn’t he angry when she kicked him out! He was gnashing his
teeth!”

“He’s taken his revenge already,” said
Alyosha. “He’s written a paragraph about Madame
Hohlakov.”

And Alyosha told him briefly about the paragraph in Gossip.

“That’s his doing, that’s his doing!”
Mitya assented, frowning. “That’s him! These
paragraphs... I know... the insulting things that have been written
about Grushenka, for instance.... And about Katya, too....
H’m!

He walked across the room with a harassed air.

“Brother, I cannot stay long,” Alyosha said, after a
pause. “To-morrow will be a great and awful day for you, the
judgment of God will be accomplished... I am amazed at you, you
walk about here, talking of I don’t know what...”

“No, don’t be amazed at me,” Mitya broke in
warmly. “Am I to talk of that stinking dog? Of the murderer?
We’ve talked enough of him. I don’t want to say more of
the stinking son of Stinking Lizaveta! God will kill him, you will
see. Hush!”

He went up to Alyosha excitedly and kissed him. His eyes
glowed.

“Rakitin wouldn’t understand it,” he began in
a sort of exaltation; “but you, you’ll understand it
all. That’s why I was thirsting for you. You see,
there’s so much I’ve been wanting to tell you for ever
so long, here, within these peeling walls, but I haven’t said
a word about what matters most; the moment never seems to have
come. Now I can wait no longer. I must pour out my heart to you.
Brother, these last two months I’ve found in myself a new
man. A new man has risen up in me. He was hidden in me, but would
never have come to the surface, if it hadn’t been for this
blow from heaven. I am afraid! And what do I care if I spend twenty
years in the mines, breaking ore with a hammer? I am not a bit
afraid of that — it’s something else I am afraid of
now: that that new man may leave me. Even there, in the mines,
underground, I may find a human heart in another convict and
murderer by my side, and I may make friends with him, for even
there one may live and love and suffer. One may thaw and revive a
frozen heart in that convict, one may wait upon him for years, and
at last bring up from the dark depths a lofty soul, a feeling,
suffering creature; one may bring forth an angel, create a hero!
There are so many of them, hundreds of them, and we are all to
blame for them. Why was it I dreamed of that ‘babe’ at
such a moment? ‘Why is the babe so poor?’ That was a
sign to me at that moment. It’s for the babe I’m going.
Because we are all responsible for all. For all the
‘babes,’ for there are big children as well as little
children All are ‘babes.’ I go for all, because someone
must go for all. I didn’t kill father, but I’ve got to
go. I accept it. It’s all come to me here, here, within these
peeling walls. There are numbers of them there, hundreds of them
underground, with hammers in their hands. Oh, yes, we shall be in
chains and there will be no freedom, but then, in our great sorrow,
we shall rise again to joy, without which man cannot live nor God
exist, for God gives joy: it’s His privilege — a grand
one. Ah, man should be dissolved in prayer! What should I be
underground there without God? Rakitin’s laughing! If they
drive God from the earth, we shall shelter Him underground. One
cannot exist in prison without God; it’s even more impossible
than out of prison. And then we men underground will sing from the
bowels of the earth a glorious hymn to God, with Whom is joy. Hail
to God and His joy! I love Him!”

Mitya was almost gasping for breath as he uttered his wild
speech. He turned pale, his lips quivered, and tears rolled down
his cheeks.

“Yes, life is full, there is life even underground,”
he began again. “You wouldn’t believe, Alexey, how I
want to live now, what a thirst for existence and consciousness has
sprung up in me within these peeling walls. Rakitin doesn’t
understand that; all he cares about is building a house and letting
flats. But I’ve been longing for you. And what is suffering?
I am not afraid of it, even if it were beyond reckoning. I am not
afraid of it now. I was afraid of it before. Do you know, perhaps I
won’t answer at the trial at all.... And I seem to have such
strength in me now, that I think I could stand anything, any
suffering, only to be able to say and to repeat to myself every
moment, ‘I exist.’ In thousands of agonies — I
exist. I’m tormented on the rack — but I exist! Though
I sit alone on a pillar — I exist! I see the sun, and if I
don’t see the sun, I know it’s there. And there’s
a whole life in that, in knowing that the sun is there. Alyosha, my
angel, all these philosophies are the death of me. Damn them!
Brother Ivan-”

“What of brother Ivan?” interrupted Alyosha, but
Mitya did not hear.

“You see, I never had any of these doubts before, but it
was all hidden away in me. It was perhaps just because ideas I did
not understand were surging up in me, that I used to drink and
fight and rage. It was to stifle them in myself, to still them, to
smother them. Ivan is not Rakitin, there is an idea in him. Ivan is
a sphinx and is silent; he is always silent. It’s God
that’s worrying me. That’s the only thing that’s
worrying me. What if He doesn’t exist? What if
Rakitin’s right — that it’s an idea made up by
men? Then if He doesn’t exist, man is the chief of the earth,
of the universe. Magnificent! Only how is he going to be good
without God? That’s the question. I always come back to that.
For whom is man going to love then? To whom will he be thankful? To
whom will he sing the hymn? Rakitin laughs. Rakitin says that one
can love humanity without God. Well, only a snivelling idiot can
maintain that. I can’t understand it. Life’s easy for
Rakitin. ‘You’d better think about the extension of
civic rights, or even of keeping down the price of meat. You will
show your love for humanity more simply and directly by that, than
by philosophy.’ I answered him, ‘Well, but you, without
a God, are more likely to raise the price of meat, if it suits you,
and make a rouble on every copeck.’ He lost his temper. But
after all, what is goodness? Answer me that, Alexey. Goodness is
one thing with me and another with a Chinaman, so it’s a
relative thing. Or isn’t it? Is it not relative? A
treacherous question! You won’t laugh if I tell you
it’s kept me awake two nights. I only wonder now how people
can live and think nothing about it. Vanity! Ivan has no God. He
has an idea. It’s beyond me. But he is silent. I believe he
is a Freemason. I asked him, but he is silent. I wanted to drink
from the springs of his soul— he was silent. But once he did
drop a word.”

“What did he say?” Alyosha took it up quickly.

“I said to him, ‘Then everything is lawful, if it is
so?’ He frowned. ‘Fyodor Pavlovitch, our papa,’
he said, ‘was a pig, but his ideas were right enough.’
That was what he dropped. That was all he said. That was going one
better than Rakitin.”

“Yes,” Alyosha assented bitterly. “When was he
with you?”

“Of that later; now I must speak of something else. I have
said nothing about Ivan to you before. I put it off to the last.
When my business here is over and the verdict has been given, then
I’ll tell you something. I’ll tell you everything.
We’ve something tremendous on hand.... And you shall be my
judge in it. But don’t begin about that now; be silent. You
talk of to-morrow, of the trial; but, would you believe it, I know
nothing about it.”

“Have you talked to the counsel?”

“What’s the use of the counsel? I told him all about
it. He’s a soft, city-bred rogue — a Bernard! But he
doesn’t believe me — not a bit of it. Only imagine, he
believes I did it. I see it. ‘In that case,’ I asked
him, ‘why have you come to defend me?’ Hang them all!
They’ve got a doctor down, too, want to prove I’m mad.
I won’t have that! Katerina Ivanovna wants to do her
‘duty’ to the end, whatever the strain!” Mitya
smiled bitterly. “The cat! Hard-hearted creature! She knows
that I said of her at Mokroe that she was a woman of ‘great
wrath.’ They repeated it. Yes, the facts against me have
grown numerous as the sands of the sea. Grigory sticks to his
point. Grigory’s honest, but a fool. Many people are honest
because they are fools: that’s Rakitin’s idea.
Grigory’s my enemy. And there are some people who are better
as foes than friends. I mean Katerina Ivanovna. I am afraid, oh, I
am afraid she will tell how she bowed to the ground after that four
thousand. She’ll pay it back to the last farthing. I
don’t want her sacrifice; they’ll put me to shame at
the trial. I wonder how I can stand it. Go to her, Alyosha, ask her
not to speak of that in the court, can’t you? But damn it
all, it doesn’t matter! I shall get through somehow. I
don’t pity her. It’s her own doing. She deserves what
she gets. I shall have my own story to tell, Alexey.” He
smiled bitterly again. “Only... only Grusha, Grusha! Good
Lord! Why should she have such suffering to bear?” he
exclaimed suddenly, with tears. “Grusha’s killing me;
the thought of her’s killing me, killing me. She was with me
just now...”

“She told me she was very much grieved by you
to-day.”

“I know. Confound my temper! It was jealousy. I was sorry,
I kissed her as she was going. I didn’t ask her
forgiveness.”

“Why didn’t you?” exclaimed Alyosha.

Suddenly Mitya laughed almost mirthfully.

“God preserve you, my dear boy, from ever asking
forgiveness for a fault from a woman you love. From one you love
especially, however greatly you may have been in fault. For a woman
— devil only knows what to make of a woman! I know something
about them, anyway. But try acknowledging you are in fault to a
woman. Say, ‘I am sorry, forgive me,’ and a shower of
reproaches will follow! Nothing will make her forgive you simply
and directly, she’ll humble you to the dust, bring forward
things that have never happened, recall everything, forget nothing,
add something of her own, and only then forgive you. And even the
best, the best of them do it. She’ll scrape up all the
scrapings and load them on your head. They are ready to flay you
alive, I tell you, every one of them, all these angels without whom
we cannot live! I tell you plainly and openly, dear boy, every
decent man ought to be under some woman’s thumb. That’s
my conviction — not conviction, but feeling. A man ought to
be magnanimous, and it’s no disgrace to a man! No disgrace to
a hero, not even a Caesar! But don’t ever beg her pardon all
the same for anything. Remember that rule given you by your brother
Mitya, who’s come to ruin through women. No, I’d better
make it up to Grusha somehow, without begging pardon. I worship
her, Alexey, worship her. Only she doesn’t see it. No, she
still thinks I don’t love her enough. And she tortures me,
tortures me with her love. The past was nothing! In the past it was
only those infernal curves of hers that tortured me, but now
I’ve taken all her soul into my soul and through her
I’ve become a man myself. Will they marry us? If they
don’t, I shall die of jealousy. I imagine something every
day.... What did she say to you about me?”

Alyosha repeated all Grushenka had said to him that day. Mitya
listened, made him repeat things, and seemed pleased.

“Then she is not angry at my being jealous?” he
exclaimed. “She is a regular woman! ‘I’ve a
fierce heart myself!’ Ah, I love such fierce hearts, though I
can’t bear anyone’s being jealous of me. I can’t
endure it. We shall fight. But I shall love her, I shall love her
infinitely. Will they marry us? Do they let convicts marry?
That’s the question. And without her I can’t
exist...”

Mitya walked frowning across the room. It was almost dark. He
suddenly seemed terribly worried.

“So there’s a secret, she says, a secret? We have
got up a plot against her, and Katya is mixed up in it, she thinks.
No, my good Grushenka, that’s not it. You are very wide of
the mark, in your foolish feminine way. Alyosha, darling, well,
here goes! I’ll tell you our secret!”

He looked round, went close up quickly to Alyosha, who was
standing before him, and whispered to him with an air of mystery,
though in reality no one could hear them: the old warder was dozing
in the corner, and not a word could reach the ears of the soldiers
on guard.

“I will tell you all our secret,” Mitya whispered
hurriedly. “I meant to tell you later, for how could I decide
on anything without you? You are everything to me. Though I say
that Ivan is superior to us, you are my angel. It’s your
decision will decide it. Perhaps it’s you that is superior
and not Ivan. You see, it’s a question of conscience,
question of the higher conscience — the secret is so
important that I can’t settle it myself, and I’ve put
it off till I could speak to you. But anyway it’s too early
to decide now, for we must wait for the verdict. As soon as the
verdict is given, you shall decide my fate. Don’t decide it
now. I’ll tell you now. You listen, but don’t decide.
Stand and keep quiet. I won’t tell you everything. I’ll
only tell you the idea, without details, and you keep quiet. Not a
question, not a movement. You agree? But, goodness, what shall I do
with your eyes? I’m afraid your eyes will tell me your
decision, even if you don’t speak. Oo! I’m afraid!
Alyosha, listen! Ivan suggests my escaping. I won’t tell you
the details: it’s all been thought out: it can all be
arranged. Hush, don’t decide. I should go to America with
Grusha. You know I can’t live without Grusha! What if they
won’t let her follow me to Siberia? Do they let convicts get
married? Ivan thinks not. And without Grusha what should I do there
underground with a hammer? I should only smash my skull with the
hammer! But, on the other hand, my conscience? I should have run
away from suffering. A sign has come, I reject the sign. I have a
way of salvation and I turn my back on it. Ivan says that in
America, ‘with the goodwill,’ I can be of more use than
underground. But what becomes of our hymn from underground?
What’s America? America is vanity again! And there’s a
lot of swindling in America, too, I expect. I should have run away
from crucifixion! I tell you, you know, Alexey, because you are the
only person who can understand this. There’s no one else.
It’s folly, madness to others, all I’ve told you of the
hymn. They’ll say I’m out of my mind or a fool. I am
not out of my mind and I am not a fool. Ivan understands about the
hymn, too. He understands, only he doesn’t answer — he
doesn’t speak. He doesn’t believe in the hymn.
Don’t speak, don’t speak. I see how you look! You have
already decided. Don’t decide, spare me! I can’t live
without Grusha. Wait till after the trial!”

Mitya ended beside himself. He held Alyosha with both hands on
his shoulders, and his yearning, feverish eyes were fixed on his
brother’s.

“They don’t let convicts marry, do they?” he
repeated for the third time in a supplicating voice.

Alyosha listened with extreme surprise and was deeply moved.

“Tell me one thing,” he said. “Is Ivan very
keen on it, and whose idea was it?”

“His, his, and he is very keen on it. He didn’t come
to see me at first, then he suddenly came a week ago and he began
about it straight away. He is awfully keen on it. He doesn’t
ask me, but orders me to escape. He doesn’t doubt of my
obeying him, though I showed him all my heart as I have to you, and
told him about the hymn, too. He told me he’d arrange it;
he’s found out about everything. But of that later.
He’s simply set on it. It’s all a matter of money:
he’ll pay ten thousand for escape and give me twenty thousand
for America. And he says we can arrange a magnificent escape for
ten thousand.”

“And he told you on no account to tell me?” Alyosha
asked again.

“To tell no one, and especially not you; on no account to
tell you. He is afraid, no doubt, that you’ll stand before me
as my conscience. Don’t tell him I told you. Don’t tell
him, for anything.”

“You are right,” Alyosha pronounced;
“it’s impossible to decide anything before the trial is
over. After the trial you’ll decide of yourself. Then
you’ll find that new man in yourself and he will
decide.”

“A new man, or a Bernard who’ll decide a la Bernard,
for I believe I’m a contemptible Bernard myself,” said
Mitya, with a bitter grin.

“But, brother, have you no hope then of being
acquitted?”

Mitya shrugged his shoulders nervously and shook his head.

“Alyosha, darling, it’s time you were going,”
he said, with a sudden haste. “There’s the
superintendent shouting in the yard. He’ll be here directly.
We are late; it’s irregular. Embrace me quickly. Kiss me!
Sign me with the cross, darling, for the cross I have to bear
to-morrow.”

They embraced and kissed.

“Ivan,” said Mitya suddenly, “suggests my
escaping; but, of course, he believes I did it.”

A mournful smile came on to his lips.

“Have you asked him whether he believes it?” asked
Alyosha.

“No, I haven’t. I wanted to, but I couldn’t. I
hadn’t the courage. But I saw it from his eyes. Well,
good-bye!”

Once more they kissed hurriedly, and Alyosha was just going out,
when Mitya suddenly called him back.

“Stand facing me! That’s right!” And again he
seized Alyosha, putting both hands on his shoulders. His face
became suddenly quite pale, so that it was dreadfully apparent,
even through the gathering darkness. His lips twitched, his eyes
fastened upon Alyosha.

“Alyosha, tell me the whole truth, as you would before
God. Do you believe I did it? Do you, do you in yourself, believe
it? The whole truth, don’t lie!” he cried
desperately.

Everything seemed heaving before Alyosha, and he felt something
like a stab at his heart.

“Hush! What do you mean?” he faltered
helplessly.

“The whole truth, the whole, don’t lie!”
repeated Mitya.

“I’ve never for one instant believed that you were
the murderer!” broke in a shaking voice from Alyosha’s
breast, and he raised his right hand in the air, as though calling
God to witness his words.

Mitya’s whole face was lighted up with bliss.

“Thank you!” he articulated slowly, as though
letting a sigh escape him after fainting. “Now you have given
me new life. Would you believe it, till this moment I’ve been
afraid to ask you, you, even you. Well, go! You’ve given me
strength for to-morrow. God bless you! Come, go along! Love
Ivan!” was Mitya’s last word.

Alyosha went out in tears. Such distrustfulness in Mitya, such
lack of confidence even to him, to Alyosha — all this
suddenly opened before Alyosha an unsuspected depth of hopeless
grief and despair in the soul of his unhappy brother. Intense,
infinite compassion overwhelmed him instantly. There was a poignant
ache in his torn heart. “Love Ivan” — he suddenly
recalled Mitya’s words. And he was going to Ivan. He badly
wanted to see Ivan all day. He was as much worried about Ivan as
about Mitya, and more than ever now.